Winter's Daughter (24 page)

Logan shook his head. "Didn’t know who to call. She was unconscious when they brought her in. The guy in the wheelchair’s the one who said to call you. When they couldn’t get you at home or your office, the officers suggested they call me. That’s how I got into it."

"Where is he?" Dillon asked. "The guy in the wheelchair."

"Right in here." Logan pushed open the door to the waiting room. "Insisted on coming in with her."

Gunner had pivoted away from the rain–streaked windows when he heard the door open. Dillon stood and watched the chair roll toward him. Unable to think of anything to say, he finally mumbled, "Gunner," and stuck out his hand.

Something stirred in Gunner’s eyes. "Councilman," he said as he gripped Dillon’s hand. "I wish I’d gotten there sooner."

Dillon saw the blood on Gunner’s clothes, and felt a sudden and most uncoplike need to sit down.

Dillon stared down at the still, white face amid the usual tangle of tubes and wires. He was thinking of all the times he’d been through this before, and it had never felt like this. Her face was unmarked, thank God. According to Gunner, she’d instinctively put up her arms to protect it. And her coat—that great big ridiculous coat—had helped to protect her arms. Though they lay on top of the blankets in a mummy wrap of bandages, the doctors had assured him the cuts were superficial. The coat had undoubtedly saved her life. That fact struck Dillon as ironic.

Asleep, she looked about ten years old. Unable to help himself, Dillon reached out and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then drew his thumb across the bridge of her nose.

They’d cleaned the latex and makeup from her face.

No, he’d never felt this way before, not even with his father’s final heart attack. He hadn’t felt the fear, or the guilt. He felt responsible. He was the reason Tannis was lying here hooked up to IV drips and electronic monitors. He’d moved too fast, pushed her too hard. She’d gone off in a panic, running from her feelings for him, and in such a vulnerable state she’d forgotten to be careful. She’d forgotten the instincts for self–preservation that had landed him in the gutter that very first day. It seemed like a year ago now.

"Babe, I’m sorry," he whispered, then turned away.

Back in the waiting room, he found Binnie waiting with Gunner. When Dillon came into the room, she stood up nervously clutching a plastic umbrella with both hands. She was wearing a red beret.

"How is she?" It sounded like she had a bad chest cold. "How’s Win?"

"Win?" Dillon glanced at Gunner. "You mean Tannis? She’s still sleeping."

"Tannis?"

"That’s her name." Dillon said gently. "Tannis Winter."

"No kiddin’? Huh. Well, I don’t want to bother her, and, anyways, I have this little cold—" Binnie leaned closer to Dillon, peering up into his face. She looked puzzled. "Well, anyway. I heard about what happened. Just wanted to see if she was okay. How’s Clarence?"

"He’s going to be all right. They both are, Binnie."

She started, frowning. "How’d you know my name? Do I know you?" And then she drew herself up and said with pride, "Bernice MacFadden, that’s my name."

"Miss MacFadden," Dillon said, touching her arm. "I’ll tell Tannis you were here."

"That’s Mrs. MacFadden," Binnie said fiercely, lifting her umbrella. "I had a husband once. Had a home of my own when he was alive. Kept it neat as a pin too." She turned away with a defiant lift of her chin. As she went through the door, Dillon heard her add, "And a vegetable garden. Grew the best vegetables in the whole neighborhood."

Dillon stared after her, looking thoughtful. Gunner came rolling over to him.

"Found her folks yet?"

Dillon shook his head. "Still trying to track down her sister. The baby–sitter says they went out to celebrate. I don’t know what they’re celebrating, but I guess they’ll be back eventually." He rubbed his neck tiredly.

"Somebody better tell the doctors about Clarence," Gunner said mildly. "They’re gonna want to sedate him when he comes to, I’d imagine."

"Good point. I’ll go tell them." Dillon started out the door, then hesitated and turned back. "You really care about these people, don’t you?"

Gunner shrugged. "I been there, Councilman. I do what I can."

"Ever thought about doing more?"

"Maybe." Gunner’s eyes were guarded, watchful. "What are you thinkin’, Councilman?"

"Ever thought about going back to school?"

"Thought about it. I have my G.I. money. Just never hit on what I wanted to study."

"City College has a good paralegal program. Good handicapped facilities too."

"That a fact?"

"Yeah. I believe I’ve figured out what I want to do with my own law degree. And I think I could use a partner."

Gunner jerked his head toward the dark windows. "Helping them?" Dillon nodded. "Ain’t much money in it," Gunner observed.

Dillon shrugged. "That’s true."

Gunner grinned. "I’ll think about it, Councilman."

Tannis emerged from the place of dreams to find Dillon holding her hand. "Am I dying?" she asked, and found that talking hurt her throat.

Dillon chuckled. "No," he said, sounding as if his throat hurt, too. "You’re going to be fine. Just a little scarred up, maybe."

"Matched set." Tannis said obscurely. "Clarence?"

"He’s going to be fine too."

"Oh." Tannis felt the sting of inexplicable tears. "My throat hurts."

"You’ve had a tube in it. Here, have a sip of water."

She felt the blessed coolness on her lips and in her throat, and then the warmth of his fingers, brushing a tear from her cheek. She murmured, "Dillon—"

"Your sister’s been here. She’s called your mom and dad. They’ll be here soon." She heard the scrape of a chair as he stood up.

"Dillon—" Frustrated tears squeezed between her lashes and ran into her hair. She wanted his hands on her face again, but didn’t know how to tell him.

"Shh, don’t cry," he said, sounding torn. "I’m sorry this happened to you. It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I shouldn’t have told you I loved you. I knew you weren’t ready to hear it."

"Dillon—"

"Tannis, I want you to know I’m not going to bother you again. So you don’t have any reason to run or hide. My loving you isn’t doing either of us any good. In fact, it’s caused us both a whole lot of pain. So I’m getting out of your hair. I’m going now. You get some rest— get well. And if you ever figure out what it is you really want, well— you know where to find me."

She called his name once more, but it was only a whisper to a closing door. Incredibly, unbelievably, just when she finally understood how much she needed him, he was gone.

When she woke again, soft, cool hands were stroking her forehead. She sighed and said, "Dillon?" But the voice that answered was her mother’s.

"Mom," Tannis said, crying again, "why am I being so stupid?" Crying seemed to come very easily. Something about being hurt, she supposed; her defenses were all shot to pieces.

She was in a private room, with a television set instead of electronic monitors. All the tubes were gone except for the IV in her right arm. She and her mother were alone—her father had gone to the cafeteria for coffee—and she’d just told her all about Dillon.

Her mother, a slim and attractive sixty–year–old, smiled and patted her hand. "You’re not being stupid, darling. You’re just being you."

Tannis groaned. "Well, that’s sure a comfort."

"What I mean is." her mother said, "that you always feel things so hard. Joys and sorrows, highs and lows—you experience it all with such intensity. But it’s what makes you so special."

"That’s a mother thing to say," Tannis whispered. "What it really makes me is an emotional cripple. I mean, think about it. Love makes me panic. What am I supposed to do? Mom, I love Dillon. I really do. And that terrifies me, even now, even after what happened." She stopped, feeling breathless and exhausted.

"Love is one of the most powerful emotions there is," her mother said matter–of–factly. "And you are a person who weeps over greeting card commercials. Of course it’s overwhelming."

"What am I going to do?"

"Well, darling. It isn’t going to go away. Is it?"

Tannis shook her head and sniffed. "No."

"Then, I guess you’ll have to learn to live with it, won’t you?"

So simple and so obvious. Tannis thought about it and felt calmer and quieter inside. After a while she stirred and said, "Mom? It isn’t just the intensity that scares me. It’s the limitations."

"Limitations?" Jan Winter frowned, the watermark of wrinkles more deeply etched in her forehead than in her daughter’s. "I don’t know what you mean."

"You know—the whole marriage and motherhood thing. Kids, P.T.A., the white picket fence—Mom, that’s not for me."

Her mother looked surprised. "Well, no, I suppose not."

"But isn’t that what it’s all about? Love, commitment—marriage. And all the rest."

"Darling, that’s what it was all about for me, because that was what I wanted—and so did your father. It’s the love and commitment—and marriage, I suppose—that’s important. What you do with it beyond that is up to you, and, of course, to the one you love. It’s kind of important you both want the same thing." She leaned over and brushed tears from Tannis’s cheeks, making her think again of Dillon. "By the way, how does Dillon feel about picket fences?"

"I don’t know," Tannis said, staring at her.

"Well," her mother said gently, "don’t you think you should ask him?"

The new wooden plaque on Dillon’s office door read: D. E. JAMES.

I really must remember to ask him what the E stands for, Tannis thought as she pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over the healing knife–wounds on her arms, lifted her hand, and knocked.

Dillon’s voice called, "Come in," and she felt that familiar upsurge in her stomach.

He was standing behind his desk just as he’d been the first time she’d seen him in this office. Only this time he wasn’t smiling. His cheeks looked drawn and his eyes were shadowed, but it wasn’t the dark side of him she saw now, but vulnerability and a certain wariness. For the first time Tannis knew how much she had hurt him by running out on him, and she almost lost her courage completely.

"It’s good to see you." Dillon said softly, then cleared his throat. "How are you doing? You’re looking well."

But I’m not doing well at all. I miss you terribly.
"Yes, I’m doing fine. Most of the stitches are out now."

"Good—good. How’s Clarence?"

Tannis gave a one–shouldered shrug. "He’s all right. They’ve transferred him to the state hospital, but he’s on medication, and they say the prognosis is pretty good."

"Well, I’m glad to hear that. So, what can I do for you?" Dillon looked pointedly at the large box under Tannis’s arm. She shifted it so it was mostly behind her.

What can you do for me? Forgive me?
"Um—I’ve been looking for Binnie. I asked Gunner, and he said she has a new home, and that you’d know where I can find her."

Dillon finally smiled then, the wide, bracketed smile she loved. The squeezing sensation in her chest almost stopped her heart.

"That’s right. Here, I’ll give you her address." He sat down at his desk and, taking a pen from his shirt pocket, scribbled rapidly on a memo pad. "There you go," he said, tearing off the sheet and handing it to her.